Page 13 of Buck Baxter and the Mysteries of Love

“And what you do with Mr. Baxter’s pipe while he’s not around? We’re pretty sure that’s illegal in at least twenty-three states.”

Stella gasped. “Have you been watching me? How very dare you! I hope you know I charge clients five bucks an hour for that privilege.”

“Given Mr. Baxter’s relationship with Holden Hart, we’vebeen watching you both for some time from the abandoned apartment building across the street from where you work. At least we were, until someone put up those damn black curtains.”

Stella kicked me in the shin. “See? I told you we needed them.”

“It doesn’t matter now. The point is we have all the evidence we need to prevent you from being a hindrance. Of course, if you’re wise, you’ll simply drop the case and forget you knew anything about Mrs. Hart’s so-called affair.”

I hitched one eyebrow curiously. “So, if Mrs. Hart ain’t having an affair, and Special Agent Jarvis here ain’t a chauffeur, what exactly in the Sam Hillisgoing on?”

Agent Smith and his men laughed. “If you honestly think I’m going to tell you that, then you’re not half as smart as I thought you were, Mr. Baxter. Now why don’t you beat it before we pull out the cuffs and march you both downtown.”

I wasn’t keen on putting on a pair of metal bracelets and spending the rest of the week in the big house. Hell, I was more determined than ever to crack this case now. If the Feds were involved, then Harry’s mother was in deeper than any one of us first imagined. But getting thrown in jail wasn’t gonna get us anywhere.

So, with a reluctant tug on Stella’s shoulder I said, “Let’s go. We know when we’ve worn out our welcome.”

“We do? I honestly ain’t sure that level of perceptiveness is in my wheelhouse.”

“Come on,” I said, forcibly dragging her away.

“Okay, okay. Fine. But if any of you peeping Toms plan on spying on me again, bringcash next time!”

“The Feds weren’t there to bust us. They were there to spy on the Germans.” I polished off another gin, set the glass down, and signaled to Ginger with a wave of one finger.

Stella and I were sitting at the bar of Ginger’s Gin Mill, trying to find a solution to the case in the bottom of an ice-filled tumbler. The gin joint was one of Wilde City’s more respectable speakeasies, decked out with private lamplit booths, sequined curtains that turned the room into a shimmer of shadows, and a bar stocked with the finest illicit booze in town, courtesy of Mamma Marlow.

“So, what’ll it be, handsome? Two more of the same?” Ginger already knew the answer, was already topping up our glasses. She was a buxom, brassy woman with hair the color of a house on fire. She had the temper of one too, although she reserved that for any schmucks who got too drunk and handsy and needed to feel the pointy toes of her shoes as she booted them out of her gin joint. For everyone else—those who knew her, respected her, obeyed her rules—Ginger was not only a good friend, but she was also a true ally when you needed one.

As our glasses filled, she glanced at me. “You know, Buck, if the wind changes, those worry lines are gonna stay etched on your brow forever. You’re too young and clever to let that happen.”

“Thanks, but I don’t feel like I’m either of those things right now.”

She slid our gins closer to us. “Then drink up. Something’s gotta smooth those cares away. It might as well be Ginger’s gin.”

With a wink she moved to the other end of the bar to serve a quiet old-timer intent on drinking his way to oblivion. I knew that feeling well.

With one elbow on the bar, I continued to think out loud, uncertain whether Stella was even listening still. “The question is, what the hell is Mrs. Hart doing sneaking off with her fakechauffeur to secretly meet with a bunch of Feds in a dive like the Cheshire?”

“Have we ruled out the idea of a Roman orgy yet?” Apparently Stellawasstill listening.

“Yes. I think it’s fair to rule out the orgy.”

Stella waggled her finger at me, judgy and drunk. “That’s because you walk through life with a closed mind, Buck Baxter.”

I straightened my back and creased my brow. “Excuse me. I don’t have a closed mind at all. I happen to be very enlightened.”

“Ha! Enlightened? You? Gimme a break. When you get in one of your moods, you don’t just walk around with a closed mind. You close everything. You close your ears, you shut your trap, you put up a wall so thick you couldn’t blast it open with a bazooka.”

“Knock it off, would ya? You’re starting to sound like Harry when we fight.”

“Well, maybe your prince of pennies is right.”

“Oh, trust me, Harry ain’t always right. He’s far from perfect.” I gave a sloppy gin-tanked sigh. “Some days I feel like I know him better than anyone else in the world. Some days I think—Iknow—I’ll love him more than anyone else has ever loved him. Then there’s days like today, when I see him turn into his father’s son, and I ask myself, ‘Do I know this man at all?’”

“I know how you feel,” Stella slurred into her gin, the rim of the glass on her lip and her brain clearly unsure whether to talk or drink… or try to do both at once. With a slosh she pulled the glass away, and with a wobbly shrug said, “Sometimes, when I look at those drop-dead gorgeous Logan twins, I ask myself, ‘Do I know these woman at all?’ But that’s because I still don’t know which is Lois and which is Lucy. Hell, there ain’t even a birthmark to tell them apart. Not a single damn mole. Sometimes in the throes of love I’ll bite one of them on the leg, you know, just so’s I can identify them by my teeth marks.”

“You really love the Logan twins?”

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